


Shot Through The Heart

by whatdoyouthinkmyjobis



Series: Hunters on the Hellmouth [19]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Crossover Pairings, Dancing, Dean in Denial, Declarations Of Love, Denial of Feelings, Dirty Dancing, Drunken Flirting, Episode Rewrite: s07e06 Him, F/M, Heartache, Heartbreak, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), Lust Potion/Spell, Lust at First Sight, Past Relationship(s), Sibling Rivalry, Teenage Drama, episode rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:07:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8352085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis/pseuds/whatdoyouthinkmyjobis
Summary: While Dean denies his broken heart and Buffy busies herself with getting Spike out of the school basement, Xander and Sam have to find out what is driving the girls crazy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was inspired by events in BTVS 7.06 “Him,” the episode that started my wheels turning on this series.

Knowing Buffy was on her way over to talk with his brother about their continuing Spike problems, Sam made himself scarce. Either they were going to make up with more loud, obnoxious sex, or Dean was going to be in a storm of a mood.

He was standing in the produce aisle trying to figure out if Dean could be persuaded to eat carrots, when he caught a whiff of orange blossoms.

The curvy redhead he’d seen on his run the previous day sidled up to him. “That is such a bachelor cart,” she said, pointing at his frozen pizza and beer. Her long legs were on display in a denim minidress and knee boots. Her thick hair fell in waves around her shoulders. She had one of those smiles that made even innocence seductive. Damn, if his brain wasn’t exclusively focused on what she would look like in the throes of an orgasm.

“See something you like?” she asked, twirling her hair around her finger.

He was embarrassed to have been caught staring. “Uh, you know how people hide vegetables in their kids’ food? I’m wondering if that would work on my brother.” He smiled, turning up the charm.

“You’re taking care of your little brother? That’s so sweet,” she said with a wide smile.

“Older, actually. He’s waging a thirty-years’ war on healthy eating.“

She laughed at his not very good joke, and with that he was in. Her name was Brittany, and he was going to pick her up for a date Saturday. _A date._ A date with a very sexy woman with an intoxicating laugh. Where on Earth would he take her? That was a nice problem to have again.

These thoughts rushed from his head when he opened his apartment door. It was dark, save for the twilight slipping in the windows. Nothing happened when he flipped the light switch. Sam set his groceries down and wished he’d had his gun on him. Body flat against the wall, he slid down the hall to the empty living room. The barstools were all on the ground, an armchair flipped over, both lamps shattered in pieces on the floor.

Quietly, Sam proceeded to the kitchen where the floor was strewn with broken glass. From the smell, at least some of the glass had to be from a beer bottle. Grabbing a large knife from the drawer, he turned his attention to the bedrooms. His door was still shut, but Dean’s was cracked open. Did Dean always shut his door? New habits Sam hadn’t noticed yet. He tiptoed that direction and pushed open the door.

Nothing was waiting to pounce on him. They hadn’t been robbed. Dean, headphones on, a nearly empty fifth slipped from his fingers to the floor, was passed out on his bed. Two monster movie posters lay mangled at the foot of the bed.

Sam put his hand on his brother’s clammy cheek. When he’d learned about Cassie, Dean’s only ex, his brother still seemed a little smitten with her, still hurt over their breakup. But she was just a girl. Fiery and opinionated, but not someone who understood the life Dean came from. She wasn’t Buffy. Dean and Buffy had taken off and burnt out in six weeks. Sam didn’t see Dean moving past this anytime soon. He slipped off his brother’s boots and covered him with a blanket. The rest of the apartment was a mess he didn’t have the energy to touch, so he put away the groceries and retreated to his room to read James Ellroy until he fell asleep.

In the morning, Sam found Dean, right fist bandaged, sitting on the couch in a spotless (though lampless) living room laughing at cartoons with his mouth full of cereal. Sam decided to skip his morning run.

“I’m going to make some bacon and eggs,” he prodded. “You want some or are you good with Lucky Charms?”

“Who would turn down bacon?!” Dean cheered.

The kitchen was equally spotless and smelled slightly of pine and lemon. Dean must have been up for hours sanitizing his feelings away, getting back to a place where he could safely pretend.

Sam pulled the food from the fridge and lit the stove. “Got plans today?”

Eyes glued to the cartoon cat on the television, Dean said, “I was thinkin’ we should pay a visit to Anya tonight. That demon the other day knew a hell of lot more than any of the others. I want to know why. I also want to kill the son of a bitch if that’s on the table.”

“Not a bad idea, but how about we wait until you’re a little more healed? She threw you through a wall.”

Leaving his dishes on the couch, Dean bounded into the kitchen and leaned against the counter. “I was thinkin’, we ain’t too far from L.A. Why don’t you an’ me pop down there this weekend? Hit up some food trucks, hustle some pool, catch a strip show. Just like old times, huh? You, me, an’ Baby hittin’ the road. Whadaya say, Sammy?”

“That sounds great, Dean,” Sam lied, “but I, uh, actually have a date this weekend.” He could feel heat rising to his face as he thought about Brittany and her tiny dress.

“What? What! Sammy, you sly dog. She hot?” Dean was beaming.

Sam couldn’t hold in his smile. “The name Jessica Rabbit comes to mind.”

“Oof! Damn. She’s way up there on my list of fuckable cartoon chicks.”

“How are we related?” Sam asked, handing Dean a couple strips of bacon.

“Don’t tell me she never made you feel weird in your pants when you were a kid,” he scoffed.

“Wow. Good bonding time there, Dean,” he said before wolfing down the last of his eggs. “I’m going to work. See you tonight.”

“Hey, see if you can find out what the hell happened with Anya the other night. If she’s gonna throw me through another wall, I’d like to know first.”

Of course, there was only one person Sam could ask about Anya: Buffy.

* * *

 

Xander tried to make it over to Buffy’s at least once a week for dinner – more often if his schedule allowed it – because nearly everyone he loved lived in that house. For a long time, he was content with his world being his two best friends and his faux kid sister. Then his world grew to include Anya, who – if she wasn’t lost to him when he panicked on their wedding day – certainly didn’t want anything to do with him now. Likewise, he’d watched everyone else’s worlds expand and contract until they were cracked versions of who they were. Love was a bittersweet word at best. Tonight, they consumed pizza with solemnity.

He wasn’t alone in these thoughts. Picking off her mushrooms, Dawn pouted, “I feel like we’ve gone the wrong way. We’re back to where we were a few months ago.”

“What are you talking about, Dawnie?” Willow asked as she swiped the teen’s cast-off toppings. “I’m here now.”

“Barely. You’re either in class or up in your room. Fun Willow who used to tell me cool stuff and hang out has yet to show up.”

“That’s not fair,” Buffy said. “You know Willow has a lot of catching up to do at school. It’s only for a few months, then I’m sure Will will be back to regaling you with tales of rudimentary computer programming.

“I think we’re actually doing better than a few months ago,” Buffy continued. “Not only is Will back, but Anya’s not a demon anymore.”

“A non-demon who wants to be alone,” clarified Xander.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Has Anya ever _really_ wanted to be alone? She needs people to tell her she’s pretty and necessary. I was planning on going over to her place this weekend to extend the proverbial olive branch, which actually sounds pokier and less peaceful than getting coffee. Anyway, there’s a fold and there’s Anya, and embracing shall be done.”

Willow passed her crusts to Xander, and they exchanged one of their refined-since-kindergarten _What a load!_ glances. Having Anya around again would have been nice for Xander, but presence and acceptance were two different things. Seeing her hurting and not being able to help her was more devastating than assuming she was sitting alone in her apartment with a bottle of wine. As for Willow…if Buffy wanted to sugarcoat their lives for Dawn’s sake, fine. They wouldn’t stop her.

Buffy carried on ignoring them. “And Spike’s back in town. Once we get him out of the basement–”

“I got to stop you there. His return is one giant leap backwards for Buffy-kind. He tried to rape you,” Xander said.

“He didn’t have a soul then!” It was her constant refrain, as if repeating the mantra enough could clean away Spike’s actions. Xander was never quite sure if she was trying to purge his actions from their minds or her skin.

“So,” sniffed Dawn, “Faith has a soul, and you hate her guts.”

“Faith is a walking, talking, too-much-makeup wearing billboard of bad decisions. She took my body, attacked mom, had sex with my boyfriend, _murdered a guy_ …Do I need to continue with reasons it’s okay to hate Faith?”

Calmly, Willow said, “Buffy, you just sound a little narrow of focus. You want to be Spike’s coffee-and-cookie-bearing head of Bloodlusters Anonymous. You keep telling us he’s a good person deep in his creaky soul, but you don’t know that. You never met William Pratt, only William the Bloody. Whoever he was before, there’s little chance that he’s still there.”

“That doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve a second chance!” Buffy rose from the table and started to clear plates whether they were empty or not.

“Or a fifth or a sixteenth or a quadrillionth, apparently. Tell me, how many chances does Dean deserve?” snapped Xander. They’d gotten word from Sam that she and Dean were kaput, but Buffy’d been completely mum on what happened.

“This isn’t about Dean,” she said in a low growl, her eyes turning dark before she retreated to the kitchen.

But Xander followed her there and back. “It’s not? Because you dumped your boyfriend when he found out you had secret sexcapades with a vampire. Now you’re putting all of your energy into finding that same vampire a cozy little home so he can have some R&R from his two-hanky memories of being a bad guy.”

Dawn gasped and covered her mouth; her eyes were filled with horror. “Oh God! You’re not thinking of getting back together with Spike are you? He would be the worst rebound ever.”

“I’m not sleeping with either of them! I am zero-sex Buffy. But you two don’t know Spike as well as I do, and you certainly don’t know Dean Winchester as well as I do. They are both wallowing in the misery of the past, but I can only help the one who wants out. We’re moving Spike to your place, Xander. Have a room ready tonight.” She grabbed her jacket and stomped out the door.

* * *

 

Buffy had assured Sam that Anya was once again a regular, awkward human. “She’s as dangerous as a kitten.”

“Kittens can be pointy,” Sam argued.

Buffy pointed at her face, obviously swollen even though the makeup covered her bruises. “Which is why I’m waiting to heal before seeing her.”

He didn’t imagine Anya would want to talk to them – he had put a bullet in her head – but Dean was determined. “You’re sure she’s just a run-of-the-mill, squealin’ ‘bout Justin Timberlake, worships at the church of Starbucks chick? No weird demony side-effects?”

“That’s what Buffy said,” Sam confirmed. Dean didn’t react to Buffy’s name. He hadn’t wanted details earlier about their discussion, just facts on Anya in black and white. “Buffy and I actually had a long talk after school–”

“And you can keep that to yourself,” Dean snapped.

People blew past them on the stairs. When they arrived on Anya’s floor, they ran toward the screaming.

Anya’s door was kicked in and two purple-ish, armored creatures stood over her with axes. The Winchesters fired two quick shots, and the demons fell. They were still flailing, clearly only winded by the bullets. Sam and Dean grabbed the demons’ axes and chopped of their heads.

“I don’t think I’m getting my deposit back,” said Anya, clutching her throat and staring wide-eyed at the black blood soaking into her carpets.

“Friends of yours?” asked Dean.

“Sure. Why not. All my friends want to kill me anyway.”

Anya unsteadily headed to the kitchen. “I’m fairly certain some human etiquette book will tell you to wait at least a month before dropping in on someone you tried to kill.” She took a shot glass and a bottle of vodka from a cabinet. Considering the glass for a brief moment, she opted for a pull straight from the bottle. “Okay. Shoot,” she demanded, her eyes closed tight.

“We’re not here to kill you,” said Sam.

Squinting out of one eye, her body held rigid, Anya said, “You’re not?”

“No,” Sam reassured her, while motioning for Dean to put away his gun. “We wanted to ask you some questions about that demon, D’Hoffryn. He knew us. Clem had no idea who we were. Neither did you–”

“Unless you were lying,” Dean interjected.

“Who is D’Hoffryn?” Sam asked.

“We can do this the hard way or the easy way.”

“Which way involves me getting very drunk? This week I’ve killed people, brought them back by getting my best friend killed, heard my ex confess his undying love, had assassins sent after me,” she gestured at the decapitated demons, “and – ooh! – got shot in the head. Good thing I wasn’t human then, huh Sam? So who wants vodka? I have beer too. My nearly maxed credit card got me well-stocked.” She grabbed a much larger glass and mixed herself a screwdriver.

Sam couldn’t tell if she was delighted to live or disappointed.

No one spoke until her glass was empty. Anya shook her arms and head, as if her bad feelings were flies to be bothered. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

Dean, looking surprised and annoyed that the hard way was off the table, asked, “Do you know who we are?”

“You are Buffy’s annoying bulldog puppy of a boyfriend - oh!” she exclaimed when Dean’s face betrayed the slightest twitch. “Ex-boyfriend then? Guess the truth landed hard. I can’t say I’m sorry for either of you. Anyway, you’re the ex-boyfriend, and Sam’s your much cuter brother. The end.”

“He’s not cuter,” Dean grumbled under his breath.

“Here’s what we know,” offered Sam. “Two demons who don’t rank very high in the demon status ladder–correct?”

“I was very well respected when I was causing revolutions thank you!” snapped Anya as she poured herself another drink.

“But you weren’t exactly in charge of anything or trusted with anything important?”

“Sadly, no.”

“Okay, so two low level demons have no idea who we are or where we are from. Your old boss, however has some of that information.”

“Yeah, so what’s up with his comment about taking you to Hell, Dean?”

Dean just glared at her wobbling in the kitchen.

“You want me to spill, but my guts are staying warm inside unless you tell me what’s going on. How can I give you details if I don’t even know the story?”

Dean continued to glare.

Sam sighed, the weight of figuring out what was happening while carrying his wounded brother was going to wear him out. “Our working theory is that an angel transported us here from another dimension. Yes, I know you said you’d never heard of a dimension with angels, but we were there. We don’t know where it is, where we are now, or how to get back.”

Anya stumbled to her refrigerator, pulled out two beers, and set them on the counter. “It’s anti-scowl juice. Drink up, Mr. Grumpy Gus. Tell me the Hell parts.”

Popping the cap off his beer, Dean stated, “I was in Hell,” before nearly downing the bottle in one long swig.

“Bummer,” said Anya, sipping her drink.

“As you know, Dean and I kill demons. Hey, it’s not personal,” he said as she scrunched her face disapprovingly. “We kill demons, and Hell is pissed about that. We’d like to stay hiding in Sunnydale, but that’s impossible if D’Hoffryn knows we’re here.”

Anya stumbled over to the couch where she stretched out. She started fidgeting with her hair, pulling out pins and clips until her brown locks skimmed her shoulders. “I was thinking of going blonde again. I’ve never really figured out what color my hair should be. Am I a fire-brand red head full of sass and fireness? A brunette with business acumen and a naughty secretary side? Or am I a fun loving blonde whom everyone speaks to slowly?

“Why are you staring at me? Oh, yes, we were still on your vague and boring problems. D’Hoffryn is a kind of a big deal in the demon world. I don’t know what sort of parade your handsome hides would bring, but I can’t imagine he’d go too much out of his way for you. Of course, he also said he wasn’t going to kill me, yet the assassins weren’t here for book club. Sounded like he was content to watch us all die in the coming months. Running won’t help, by the way. He can find you wherever you go.”

“Looks like we’re killing the son of a bitch then.”

“Good luck! D’Hoffryn is very powerful and very strong. Whatever that knife was you were waving, Sam, it wasn’t going to do anything but piss him off. Although, if you come up with a plan, I’d love to be on the crack team. I’m not exactly on his Christmas card list anymore.”

“Whatd’ya say, Sammy? Want to hit the books, figure out how to take out the Purple People Eater?”

“I don’t know if we’re enough. If Ruby’s knife won’t work on him, will anything?” He turned back to Anya, but she was already sound asleep on her couch.

Her doorless apartment wasn’t safe. Sam wrapped her in a blanket and carried her to the Impala before dealing with the bodies of the assassins and heading back home with their paltry answers.

* * *

 

Willow mentally patted herself on the back for doing the impossible – she convinced Buffy to take the night off and join her and Xander at The Bronze. It didn’t hurt that Dean Winchester was more likely to be stalking graveyards than getting loose on the dance floor.

While Xander was at the bar getting drinks, she turned to her heartbroken friend. “If you get that wanna-talk-about-it woe, just say the word and I’m there.”

Buffy straightened her shoulders and brushed her bangs from her eyes. “Talk about what?” She hadn’t even mentioned his name unless forced to.

“What happened with you and Dean. You were all smitten kitten; now you’re more like, uh, roadkill.”

“A flattering metaphor.”

Xander returned with two colorful concoctions elaborately garnished with fruit. “Thought you both deserved tiny paper umbrella levels of chill tonight. What’d I miss?”

Buffy plucked her umbrella from her drink and twirled it. “Willow thinks I need a heart-to-heart about my man troubles.”

“Not your man troubles, your you troubles. You’ve been so out of it, I just want normal Buffy again,” Willow said.

“I fight vampires. How normal can I be?” She took a sip of her drink, letting the coldness wash over her. “Dean wasn’t a good plan from the start. We tried a thing. It didn’t work. It didn’t end well, but no regrets.”

She gazed out at the gyrating bodies on the dance floor. “Thanks for inviting me. We’ve needed some us time.”

Xander held up his glass, and they toasted themselves. “What are three, might I say, relatively attractive young people expected to do in a dance club on a Friday night?”

“We could not make a spectacle of ourselves.” Buffy nodded at a couple on the floor. The boy, a teenager in a letterman jacket, was barely moving in a lame shuffle, but the girl – in dangerously low jeans and a tight, slashed top – was rubbing her hands and legs all over him.

“I have no criticism,” said Xander.

The girl turned around. It was Dawn.

* * *

 

When Dean and Buffy first started making googly eyes at each other, Sam was worried their inevitable crash would make life rough for him and his brother in an already unfamiliar world, but even though they’d broken up, Buffy still met with Sam for lunch twice a week. As usual, they sat in his office just off of the school library – “a deja-vu arrangement” she called it – Buffy idly picking at her lunch while they discussed everything from fight strategies to weird student behaviors.

Today’s topic was Dawn’s first major crush, the high school quarterback, RJ. “You should have seen her, Sam. No, maybe it’s best you didn’t. Xander had the major wiggins when he realized the skank he was drooling over was Dawn. She was wearing next to nothing and grinding all over RJ. It was like she was auditioning for a Christina Aguilera video. If I hadn’t been so focused on grounding her, I would have died from second-hand embarrassment.”

The irony was so thick, Sam couldn’t hold in a smile. “Provocative dress and provocative dancing to get a guy to notice you. Where could Dawn have possibly learned that move?’

Hand over her heart and recoiling in faux horror, Buffy chided, “Sam Winchester, I am a lady. I am an adult. And I will do what the hell I want. Besides, I’m better at it than Dawn.”

Sam pursed his lips and rolled his eyes. “Wasn’t that the night you thought Dean was flirting with the bartender?”

Stabbing her salad a couple times, she muttered, “Ouch.”

 _Shit._ His timing was terrible, the wound too fresh for jokes. “Buffy, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring him up. If it makes you feel any better, that whole mess was my fault. I kept telling him to stay away from you, but he just couldn’t. It’s kinda funny, he hasn’t gone near The Bronze since.”

“Why would you do that? I wasn’t exactly being subtle with the signals.”

“I was worried that when my emotionally stunted brother and the _vampire slayer_ didn’t work out, that you’d be pissed at us, leave us hanging out to dry. Clearly, I was wrong.”

She gave him a sad smile and grabbed his hand across the table. “You’re my friend! I don’t leave friends hanging, but stay out of my dating life. As for Dean, he can pick up the bartender for all I care. I’m over him.”

This was news. Before the break up, Buffy and Dean couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. They whispered in each other’s ears, had private jokes, held hands. Each moment they were together, they were an island unto themselves. Since the break up…When they’d had lunch the previous week, Buffy had teared up whenever they skirted around the topic of Dean. Dawn had confided that she’d gotten demanding and short at home, lashing out irrationally at the entire house over dirty dishes and towels on the floor. Usually bobbing on a cloud of her Slayer supremacy, Buffy lately seemed deflated. _I’m over him_ , was the last thing Sam had expected to hear.

“It’s funny,” she continued, “if Dean had called me yesterday and said he wanted to talk, I would have flung myself at him. Our problems aside, I was completely convinced that he was going to be the one for me. Buffy plus Dean equals Forever in a glittery heart. A couple days ago, Dawn was wailing at me, telling me that I didn’t understand love in all of its gut-knotting glory, and it really, _really_ hurt. But today, I know she was right. I’ve never known love until this morning. I’ve found the guy for me, and I feel great.”

“That’s, uh, sudden.” Sam had zero intention of letting Dean hear this news until he’d learned more, primarily if Buffy was all right. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“RJ! Haven’t you been listening?”

“RJ. The student your sister was dirty dancing with this weekend?”

Each time his name was spoken, Buffy glowed. “He’s perfect, Sam! He’s so handsome and–”

“Save it! I heard this speech from Dawn last week. Do I need to remind you that he’s a minor? Do I even have to point out to you the levels of bad idea this is?”

“First of all,” snapped Buffy, throwing out her lunch and slamming the chair into the table, “I’m barely older than him. I’m practically a teenager, which didn’t seem to bother you when your brother was the one I was swooning over. Second, shut up, Dr. Phil!”

* * *

 

 _This is bad. This is bad. This is so super bad._ Sweat beads formed on Xander’s brow as Willow held up a magic field to keep Buffy from leaving the house. The bruise on his cheek throbbed.

“You can’t keep me here, forever, Will. Love wins!” Buffy shouted as she banged on the invisible walls.

A proud grin on her lips, Dawn’s stance was cocky with victory. “You can do it, Willow. Besides, RJ deserves better than a slut like her anyway.”

Buffy’s face turned sour with rage. “Did you just call me a slut?”

The girls were still screaming at each other when Anya arrived with a small suitcase. In the chaos of the RJ love fest, everyone had forgotten she was planning to hide from D’Hoffryn’s assassins for a while at Buffy’s.

“Bad time or are we comparing sexual histories?” she asked.

Nervous to be around her after their last encounter but with his heart still fluttering, Xander guided her into the dining room away from the yelling. “Buffy appears to be under some sort of love spell. We thought Dawn just had a super crush, but she pushed a kid down the stairs over this RJ.”

“Love spells are very dangerous. Smells like an amateur.”

“You’re telling me! Willow’s got Buffy contained because she took a swing at me when I suggested she shouldn’t consummate the relationship.”

“I thought about using a love spell on you.” Her voice was almost a whisper.

“You don’t need to,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

“Not now. Before we started dating. You were the only human who acted like I had any value, I wanted you to fall for me the way I was falling for you, but I thought that wasn’t a very human thing to do. I wanted to be a person for you.”

Anya looked back into the living room where the Summers sisters were still screaming. “Xander, you should maybe call the Winchesters. Dean needs to hide.”

While Xander was on the phone, Anya answered the knock at the door.

“No patrol either,” Xander emphasized.

“Okay, I think I can get him out for dinner or something,” Sam said. “You sure you don’t want me to come over? Sounds like you could use more hands.”

“Nah, I’ll make Spike help. We’ll call it rent. Just keep you brother –”

Anya laughed. “RJ, you’re so funny!”

Xander and Willow snapped to attention, arriving at the door at the same time with Dawn trying to squeeze past.

RJ was average height. A little thin for a football player; his letter jacket too large. He carried himself with the swagger of a boy who was used to getting everything he wanted. “Hey, I was looking for Miss Summers?”

“She’s not here! She moved away!” shouted Dawn from behind them.

“I’m in here, baby!” Buffy shouted from the living room.

“Look, buddy, you need to take your bad ideas and get out of here,” Xander snapped.

“Yeah, not here. Maybe we could meet at the library?” Willow suggested, her doe-eyes soft with affection.

Xander pushed them all back and slammed the door, as the girls started to complain. The magic field fell, and Buffy joined them.

“I can’t believe you kept me from my true love!” she shouted.

“Hey, I have a wedding dress and a ring all ready to go!” Anya replied.

“I think I could turn him into a woman,” Willow whispered.

“I gotta go,” Xander said, hanging up on Sam.

* * *

 

Being the middle of the week, Young’s Pub wasn’t too crowded. A couple of old bar flies camped on their usual stools. A skinny Angels’ fan with expressive hands chatted up the bartender with theories about the upcoming World Series. A gaggle of middle aged women in business clothes abandoned their empty martini glasses and greasy baskets to accost the jukebox.

Sam covered his other ear, hoping to drown out Axl Rose’s sudden wailing. “Yes, Brittany, I’ll be there at seven to pick you up… No, I won’t cancel on you again. I’m so sorry about that. I’ll tell you more about it when I see you, okay? Friday. Yes. See you then.”

Dean set two filled-to-the-brim beers on the high table, the foam sloshing out over his hands. He looked in vain for a napkin and resorted to using his jeans. “Who was that?”

“Jessica Rabbit,” Sam smirked.

“That’s not her name, right? Because if it is, I think she’s gonna charge you.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. No, that’s not her name. Her name’s Brittany.”

“Ooh Brittany,” Dean teased, his entire face alight at his brother’s discomfort. “Brittanys are dirty girls. She callin’ for phone sex? Do I need to shoot some pool while you work her through it?”

Sam glared at his brother. He wasn’t in the mood for childishness, but he knew this was how Dean deflected. He sighed and said, “She just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to cancel on her again.”

“You didn’t have to cancel on her last time. God knows, you’d be in a better mood if you got laid once in awhile. Speakin’ of, I remember there being hot chicks the last time we were here.”

“That’s it. I can’t do this!” said Sam, setting his beer on the table with a thunk. “I can’t keep acting like you’re okay, Dean.”

“What the fuck are you talking about? I’m fuckin’ peachy.” Dean turned his attention to the dancing women.

“You’re not, Dean. You’re having nightmares again. You - You’re drinking more. Instead of fighting, you’re spending a hell of a lot of time reading, which is healthy for most people, but not you. You’re in complete denial about Buff-”

“What the fuck you want me to say, Sam? I had a few weeks of awesome sex, and now it’s over. I’m a free man. Ain’t nothing to get all weepy-eyed over.” As if to prove how over Buffy he was, Dean smiled at the women (none of whom he would usually want to pick up) and winked.

Sam bit his tongue and regarded his brother. If there was one person he could read like a book, it was Dean. He knew Dean – distrusting, keep-people-at-arm’s-length Dean – had laid his heart bare before Buffy. He knew that Buffy brought him happiness he hadn’t seen in his brother since they first started hunting together again. Since they broke up, he’d been drinking himself to sleep at night. He’d been pouring all of his free time into a way to get home. Dean would rather go back to the Apocalypse, letting everything they’d built here burn on the Hellmouth, than stay in the same town as his ex.

It wasn’t just that Dean needed Buffy. Buffy, who was currently under the influence of a love spell, was spiraling out of control. She was cocked and loaded. Maybe Dean could disarm her.

“Dean, I just think–”

“My, my, aren’t you two handsome?” said one of the dancing drunks, stumbling up to their table. She put her hands of both of their thighs. Sam shifted uncomfortably, trying to move away from her.

His brother flashed his most charming smile and leaned into her. “Hello, sweetheart.”

She giggled, casting off her experience and doing her best to be girlish despite her grey roots and pants suit. “It’s Elaine, angel-face.”

“Well, Elaine, what are you up to tonight?”

“I quit my job, so my girlfriends are taking me out. The night would be so much better if I had someone to dance with.” The alcohol made her pout in an exaggerated, cartoonish fashion.

“You’re in luck,” said Dean. “My brother here loves to dance, don’tcha Sammy?” Before Sam could protest, the woman had yanked him from his stool and was dragging him to the dance floor, already bouncing to “It’s My Life.”

* * *

 

When Sam finally made his way back to the table, Dean was already tucking into his burger. They ate in silence save for Elaine and friends constantly swinging by to ask Sam for another dance. They still weren’t speaking when they headed home.

Dean was more than okay with this. He’d managed to go a week with very little probing from Sam. He knew his brother was worried, but there wasn’t any point in talking about it. He’d bury the pain like always.

Buffy had gotten sick of him, and longed for the devil she knew. They were over. He’d been stupid to get so attached, so hopeful, without learning who she was. But that was the problem. He’d hoped her “I need to believe in redemption” speech would be two-fold for him, that both her faith in redemption and her feelings for him could help her look past the monster he’d become the last few years. Maybe she’d be able to unearth the grave of the man he’d been.

But she didn’t want to play doctor. That he could understand. He’d long feared that if Buffy kept poking around in the dark parts of his past, even she would run away screaming. That he could get over. What felt like a knife to the heart, was that she ran back to the cold, dead arms of Spike. Spike, her cocky, violent ex who she’d been keeping on the bench just in case, had been called up to play.

“It’s been a week,” Sam muttered as they turned the corner onto their street. “I think you should call her. Cooler heads and all.”

Dean sighed, “Sam, there ain’t nothing to talk about.”

“Didn’t she dump you because you were angry about Spike? I’m sure you could work that out.”

“What’s there to work out? She wants to fuck a disgusting thing with a Billy Idol complex, I ain’t gonna stop her.”

“First of all, I’ve made that exact same mistake twice now. Remember Madison? Ruby? You know that sometimes this job puts you in weird situations. Strange bedfellows was a term invented for people like us!”

Dean shook his head. Sam didn’t understand, and unless he felt like sharing both his brightest hopes for the future and the darkest parts of his past, no one would understand how Buffy fit in and broke him apart. “Spike is the last thing I want to talk about. I’d rather torture the son of a bitch. If I ever see him again – FUCK!”

Spike appeared out of nowhere and tackled Dean. They tumbled into the street. As Dean pushed the vampire off of him, his shoulder screamed, a familiar warmth radiating down his arm. “Sorry,” muttered the vampire, as he took off down the street. Though he was seeing stars from banging his head, Dean could make out Spike chasing after a small blonde woman with a crossbow.

“What the fucking shit?!” Sam yelled.

“Sammy, I love it when you use your college words,” joked Dean, pushing through the pain, “but I need you to tell me how far this bolt went through my shoulder. Hell of a parting gift, huh?”

Sam sat by his brother’s side, his hands sticky with Dean’s blood. “I think we can pull it out, but let’s wait until we get home. You’ll be okay as long as you don’t try to hail a cab or play baseball.” He helped Dean up and they slowly continued the last three blocks to their apartment.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said, “I think you need to talk with Buffy.”

By midnight, Dean’s shoulder was sewn up and bandaged. The muscle would heal as long as he took it easy. Sam cleaned up the blood in the bathroom, while Dean stretched out on the couch with an icepack on his shoulder and a whiskey in his hand.

Buffy had shot him. Spike had saved his life. From the quick, fuzzy glimpse he’d gotten, she would have shot him again had the vampire not gone after her. Their breakup was terrible. He felt like his guts had been hollowed out, but even then it didn’t seem like a tire-slashing, stalking, kill-you-in-your-sleep sort of movie material. Was he really so horrible that in a week, the woman he’d wanted nothing more than to please, to hold, to carry had decided the world would be better without him in it?

“I think we need to get out of town, Sam. You were right to begin with. I shouldn’t have fucked with her,” he said not even trying to mask the regret in his voice.

After throwing bloody towels and clothes into the kitchen trash, Sam sat on the coffee table. “There’s something I need to tell you about Buff–”

He was cut off by knocking at the door. “I’ll get it. You rest.” He disappeared down the hall and quickly returned with a confused look on his face. “I think it’s for you?”

Dean shuffled down the hall and peeked through the door. It was Spike. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” he exclaimed.

“You know I can hear you through the door?” said the vampire.

All Dean’s anger over being shot, being dumped, being lied to exploded. He threw open the door and knocked Spike to the ground. Grabbing a fistful of his t-shirt in his weakened hand, Dean punched him in the face over and over yelling, “Why the fuck are you here, you fucking monster?” He ignored the tearing of his knuckles against the vampire’s hard, cold skin and focused on breaking every bone in Spike’s face.

“Dean!” shouted Sam, pulling his brother off Spike.

Dean looked up to see their neighbor, an elderly lady in declining mental health, standing in the hallway aghast.

“Mrs. Johnson! Good evening. I’m so sorry. You know how men can get sometimes,” placated Sam as he ushered her back into her apartment.

“Well, that’s a ‘ello,” said Spike, propping himself up and wiping the blood from his lip. “Mighty fine thank you for savin’ your life.”

He knew it was true, but he didn’t like a blood-thirsty monster hanging it over his head. “What the fuck are you gettin’ at you poofy piece a shit?” said Dean, kicking at Spike and ignoring the blood blooming from his shoulder.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, braintrust that you are, The Slayer tried to kill you tonight. You may also not be aware that she always hits her target. ‘Ad I not knocked you over, you’d ‘ave been shot through the heart. She’s especially good at destroying the heart.”

“Buffy ain’t exactly happy with me right now, but why the fuck would she want to kill me?” Had his distrust hurt her that badly? From his end, she’d seemed fine with the breakup, almost like it had been lingering on her mind for a while, or since Spike had shown up at least.

“Yes, Mrs. Johnson, we’ll keep it down. Again, I am so sorry for my brother’s behavior. Good night!” Pulling the apartment door closed behind him, Sam sighed and leaned against the wall. “You’re both still here and not beating on each other? Are we experimenting with adulthood?”

“The poofy said Buffy’s trying to kill me.”

“Poofy? ‘Scuse you pretty boy, but I was the Big Bad back when you were still crying to your mummy ‘cause you shit yourself,” said Spike with a cocky snarl.

Sam crossed the hall and stood between Dean and their visitor, growling, “You go down that path, I’ll let him stake you.”

Normally, Dean didn’t want his baby brother in harm’s way, but his shoulder was stinging and he was dizzy from alcohol. “Why are you here? How did you even find us?”

The swagger left Spike as quick at it had arrived. Shoulders slumped and staring at the floor he confessed, “I-I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“All right? Because we’re buddies?”

“No, because of ‘er!” he snapped with a little bite. “Because she’s sittin’ at home cryin’ her eyes out thinking she killed you! I know that regret. Trust me, I’d be over the moon with you dead, but she’d just be worse off. Thought I’d check on you. The half-pint told me where you lived.”

Dean was more confused than before. “So Buffy’s trying to kill me, but she’s upset about it. She didn’t seem too broken up when she shot me. Don’t make sense.”

“You broke the curse, right?” asked Sam.

The vampire nodded. “T’was ‘is jacket. Poncey letter thing all the sporty go-getters wear. Xander an’ I took it an’ burned it. Just in time too; all the girls were goin’ bats in the belfry. Willow tried to turn ‘im into a woman. The little nibblet tried to off ‘erself. And, well, you saw ‘ow Buffy wanted to prove ‘er devotion.”

“Sammy, translate ‘cause I’m too tired for his shit.”

“It’s what I was about to tell you when Mr. Personality showed up. Buffy’s been acting weird the last couple of days. Xander and I were thinking it was some sort of love spell. She and Dawn were about to tear each other apart over some sophomore on the football team.”

Dean rubbed his eyes and tried to sort the facts. His ex-girlfriend was upset because she’d shot him while under the influence of a love spell. Killing him, not killing any of the monsters she usually hunted, was going to be her ultimate expression of love to an overrated, entitled teenage boy. “I don’t know. I still don’t get why she’d want to kill me.”

“Because she still loves you, you sodding git,” stated Spike. “Any blind man can see it.”

Dean regarded Spike with disdain. He really knew how to find a knife and twist. “Yeah right. You must not have heard. Buffy dumped my ass along with anything she felt about me. I guess she had someone else she wanted to be with.”

“She doesn’t _want_ to be with anyone else. That’s why she’s at home in tears. That’s why she tried to off you when she was forced to love that boy. It’s what people do when they’re in love. They crash into each other. Sometimes the sparks fly an’ e’eryone gets their jollies. Other times it’s blood an’ tears. You can’t just flip a switch an’ stop carin’ about someone, God knows I’ve tried.

“Look, caring about Buffy, it’s like trying to ride a lightning bolt. It’s fast, intense, and ultimately you get burned. It’s not even entirely ‘er fault. Comes with being the Slayer. She promises Heaven and puts you through Hell.”

“Did you just fuckin’ quote Bon Jovi at me, dude?”

“Shut up! It’s an applicable turn of phrase. Anyway, I don’t know what happens now. Maybe she takes you back. Maybe she gets over you. Good God, I hope it’s that one. But I know this: you won’t get over her. Her voice’ll be in your ‘ead forever, pushing you to be a better man. She gave me scars and I’m better for it.”

Spike sucked on the inside of his cheeks, making his thin face more gaunt. He looked Dean up and down as he had the night they’d met; this time Spike seemed to regard him less as a plaything. “Also, I hate you, and I wish I’d let her kill you.” The cocksure timber returned. “You’d better let Florence Nightingale here sew you back up. Wound like that, you’re bound to attract all sorts of uglies.”


End file.
